


no reason

by Cat_Face



Series: suicide [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Excessive Swearing, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Face/pseuds/Cat_Face
Summary: a student tries to write out his frustrations in hopes of getting over himself but instead ends up solidifying the will to die.





	1. a note

It’s weird how easy it is to joke about killing himself. 

And it’s not like he does it to be offensive, not like he does it to be edgy. It comes out naturally. Oh, I have a test next period. I’m gonna kill myself. I got a 40 on my test. Gonna kill myself. I forgot we had homework. Kill myself. 

He’s smart enough to know that it’s wrong, but he’s not smart enough to stop. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s normal anyway, joking about suicide. All his friends do it, but he thinks he does it the most out of everyone. He’s tried to think about why he says it so much or about why nobody around him seems to take it as a serious warning sign. There’s fliers around the school--speak up if you hear something, speak up if you need help. Everyone thinks they’re dumb. The suicide hotline goes in one ear and out the other. 832 --- ----. You talk, we listen.

There was a period of time where the jokes became timid. It was when someone actually killed themselves over the weekend. Out of nowhere. He didn’t even hear about it until he came to school on Monday, wondering why everyone was dressed in black. ***** died, his friend had told him when he’d asked. Saturday evening, October. It wasn’t the mom that found the body but some friends looking to hang out. 10PM, door open, wonder why, enter house, dead body. He feels bad for the guys that found their friend dead.

He doesn’t remember how ***** died. He remembers spending time looking on news outlets, hoping for a name, a charge, a backstory. A reason why. He was just curious. But the kids that commit suicide don’t get their names released, not on the news. The only thing he can hope for is an online obituary to be published, something he can find by looking up first and last names. He remembers getting shown pictures of *****’s face. He’d never seen that face in his life, but everyone seemed to recognize it, or maybe they were just playing along with the school’s mourning. He remembers his teachers grieving in their own way--eulogies, informal. Such a star of the class. Always smiling. Brightened up the room. It was some cliche bullshit like that, but when it was spoken to him in real-time, he understood the weight of their words. He remembers a rose placed on the desk ***** used to sit at in another period. He remembers his English teacher crying, trying to speak through tears. Trying to teach through grief. 

He remembers the backlash some teachers had faced in light of their insensitivity. Did you hear how Mr. ------- rolled his eyes during the announcement? You saw how Mr. ------- kept yelling at us even though he knew ***** died? I’ve lost all my respect for him. Yeah, I’m dropping out of orchestra next year because of that. Smh. Smh. I hate him.

It was confusing. That entire week. It was the first time he’d ever been around people who were actively grieving. Why did they come to school? Why did the school try to push on? Because it was standardized testing week, and the state wasn’t going to baby a couple hundred teens reeling back from a suicide. Of course they weren’t. Nobody expected them to. Not when the students already missed four weeks school from a hurricane and a flood. 

But it wasn’t like the movies, not at all. The death barely made a dent in how the school functioned. He never saw any students go into counseling, or if they did, they probably didn’t go to the school’s shit counselors. He knows he wouldn’t. People avoided talking about it, the death. People who didn’t even know ***** teared up when they did. 

A week went by. Everything went back to normal. Forgotten. The rose wilted and got thrown in the trash. 

***** is barely mentioned now. The only time ***** comes up is when people wear the shirt printed with *****’s face on it. We miss you, *****. That’s what the shirt says. He’s only seen a handful of people wear it but it always seems to be on the same day in October. 

***** had died two weeks after his birthday. His friend told him that too. 

That was two years ago, when he was a freshman. Now the suicide jokes are rampant again, even among the kids who were present during that week of school. It’s surreal. He thinks about it a lot. How easily forgotten *****’s suicide was. Why did ***** commit suicide? Was it family? Circumstance? Hidden trauma? Nobody saw it coming, nobody. Always smiling, lights up the classroom. A slap in the face. 

He feels nothing when he declares that he’s going to kill himself. Maybe humor. A laugh just to laugh. It’s easy to twist his words into something different. Oh, I’m going to jump off a bridge. I’m going to shoot myself in the fucking head. I’m going to hang myself. Let me tie a noose, I know how. Wait, let me start my car in the garage and suffocate. Bro, I’m gonna fall down the stairs and snap my neck. I’m gonna choke on my noodles and not even cough. APUSH me off a fucking cliff, that’s what this is. Fuck this class, I’m just gonna shoot myself. I’d take Abraham Lincoln’s place any day. 

It's times like these, when he’s home alone, that he really starts to think about it. Killing himself. He’s smart enough to know it’s wrong. He’s also smart enough to know that talking to anyone won’t help. That “you speak, we listen” shit his school provides...a 1.6/5 star review on Google, isn’t that hilarious? It makes him want to kill himself. He knows his counselors are pieces of shit. They might mean good, and they might be good people deep down inside but they’re useless. So fucking useless. Incompetent at their job. Can’t sort a schedule correctly, blames the student body for being inept at submitting forms when they can’t even make correct announcements and deadlines and their exemptions are always messy and useless and that’s the reason why everyone jokes about suicide. It’s easy to say it because death is natural. Death is expected. The school shootings--everywhere everywhere everywhere. Jokes about school shootings are about as common as suicide, if not more.

He fucking hates this school. Your exemption forms are due on tomorrow! Don’t forget, forms were passed out on yesterday. 

Hearing them say that makes him wanna jump off a cliff. He hates it so much he could shoot himself. He hates it, he hates it so much. 

it’s fucking crazy how frustrated he gets over something like grammar. He gets pushed over the edge hearing Mrs. ------’s voice repeating over and over and <strike>voer</strike> over in his head, on tomorrow on tomorrow on tomorrow on yesterday on yesterday fidelity expedioutosly and <strike>I</strike> he can’t get it out of <strike>my</strike> his head. He hates that he’s crying over something this dumb. He hates that he really wants to kill himself whenhe’s alone. He hates that something like this could push him to even trying. His parents would be sad and his friends would be like Jaxon’s friends finding him dead in his room. The only difference is that he’ll have a motive, a backstory, a charge, a reason why. It’ll all be in here even though it's in 3rd person b/c it feels fucking stupid to write this in 1st person. becaus yeah its his fault. Its my fucking fault for never speaking up and i’m sorry. 

fucking ciao,

Jamie nguyen


	2. 1007

Jamie’s dad has a gun. His friends used to joke about him being a future school shooter, but what the hell is he supposed to do with a handgun? All those mass shooters have assault rifles. What’s he gonna do with a Glock? Shoot the girl who rejected him? The teacher that gave him a failing grade? He’s not that petty. 

He glances at his phone screen, ignoring the text banners at the top. Not in the mood to answer them. He laughs when he thinks about it. Well yeah, of course not...he’s about to shoot himself. Damn. It be like that. At least he’s not leaving them on read. 

He throws the gun on his bed and picks up his phone. The website tells him that handguns are the worst gun choice to kill himself with because of how many survivors there are. Well fuck. It’s better than overdosing on some dumb shit like Advil though. He can’t even swallow two pills when his head hurts, so how’s he supposed to just chow down like 20 of those dogs? One of his teachers also told him that overdosing was just a way to fuck up his organs, not die. And he’s sure as hell not climbing up somewhere high to jump off. Houston is the flattest place on Earth...literally almost underwater after every rainstorm. Yeah, no thanks. He actually debated hanging himself, but he can’t reach the ceiling beams to hang the rope off. 

So yeah. His dad’s gun is the best option. He could stab himself with a kitchen knife, but hell to the fuck no. He’s suicidal, not retarded. 

He’s glad his dad told him the password to his phone. Jamie thinks about it as he reaches for the gun again. One double oh seven. Like James Bond but with a one before it...his fingers pause...yeah his dad is kinda lame...but he’s glad it matches the padlock on the vault holding the gun. He unfreezes and haphazardly grabs the gun by the barrel. 

He knows it’s loaded. His dad checks and reloads it weekly at 5AM in the morning. Paranoia from when he served in the war or some shit. Jamie rubs his eyes with both hands, hitting the pistol grip against his forehead. He can feel how red his eyes are. He sniffles and feels all the wetness in his nostrils. He has half a mind to blow his nose in his blankets, but then decides that it’s probably better to go out with at least _ some _sort of dignity.

Jamie sighs. It feels like he should do something special before he shoots himself. He already wrote his suicide note though. It sounds dumb as fuck, but he doesn’t feel like rewriting it. A bad habit he’s practiced since middle school. His grammar is already good the first time around, so why bother editing? 

He puts the barrel in his mouth. Tastes like bitter dust and clean metal. He thought it would’ve been smokier, but maybe it’s because the gun hasn’t been shot in a while. Damn. He’s taking the gun’s virginity. 

He laughs, then pulls the trigger. 

**Author's Note:**

> just a break from suzuki


End file.
